To the Wind

photo by S. Thomas Summers

Treasure

For a moment,
it’s a fallen leaf

painted cherry,
ochre – a swirl

of sunlight.
Its flesh,

brittle, dry,
crumbles

in my palm,
grinds

into powder
between

its age
and my hand.

I’ll give its skin
and crust

to the wind,
watch

its demise
strengthen

earth and breath
and dream

that my death
and dust

will float
as gracefully.

———————–

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Pride and Joy.”

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4 thoughts on “To the Wind

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